Good Feelings
by Some-of-us-live
Summary: Before he left, Willy Wonka was in love with Amy B. Carter, promising to come back for her. Years later, as Charlie Bucket decides to bring his Aunt Blythe with the factory with him, Willy realizes that there is something familiar about Aunt Blythe.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: Before he left, Willy Wonka was in love with Amy B. Carter, promising to come back for her. Years later, as Charlie Bucket decide to bring his Aunt Blythe with him to the factory, and Willy realizes there is something familiar between Amy B. Carter and Aunt Blythe.**

As Willy Wonka was getting his semi-annual haircut, he noticed a silver hair on his shoulder. Plucking it off, he looked at his reflection. In it he saw his factory, his Oompa-Loompas, and the chocolate he had spent his whole life developing to the luscious goodness it is now. In it, he also saw the face of another 12 year old, standing in his bedroom doorway as he packed all of his worldly possessions into a knapsack.

_"Willy? Why are you leaving?" a quiet English voice asked, her voice trembling. Turning around, he saw a lithe, pixie-like figure in the doorway._

_"How'd you know?"_

_"Your father called my house, he asked me to come and talk to you."_

_"He talked to you?"_

_"Yes. I got in trouble because I'm not allowed to talk on the telephone," she said. Willy didn't even have to ask before Amy was pulling her shirt off, leaving her in just a camisole as she showed him the whip slashes and bruises in strange shapes, shaped a lot like baseball bats on her back. He gasped, placing a hand on her back and getting a groan from Amy, his best friend, his only friend. _

_"Why don't you leave?" he asked. "Anywhere is better than with your dad."_

_"I don't have anywhere to go," she answered quietly. She was always quiet. "It doesn't happen that much, and my skin bruises really easy," she said hurriedly, though she knew Willy didn't believe the lie._

_"What about with Helena?" he asked; knowing that Amy's sister would help her if she knew what was going on._

_"No, she's married now and trying to have a child, she told me the last time she wrote me. I'm not going to intrude; they already have four elderly people to take care of. I don't want to make their lives even harder. And anyway, I'm only her half-sister." she answered._

_He went to his knapsack and pulled out an assortment of bandages. "Did he hurt you on your stomach, too?" he asked._

_She was silent for a moment, before she mumbled, "Yeah..."_

_"Pull up your camisole some."_

_"Why?" she asked, looking suspicious. Willy was too young to realize why she was suspicious of anyone telling her to do something like lifting up a shirt. When he was older, he'd find out, when he was wiser, smarter, and richer, but until then, he just thought that she didn't want him to see the bruises._

_"In case you have any broken ribs, this'll keep them still," he answered patiently as she gathered the hair that had never before been cut and what needed to be washed._

_"Thanks, Willy. You've always been so nice to me," she said quietly, her soft, melodic voice reminding Willy of music boxes and of fairy stories his mother had told him before she'd left._

_"It's no problem, Amy. You would've done the same for me."_

_"Hey, Willy? Why exactly are you leaving?"_

_"I can't stand it here any longer. My father is more concerned about his practice than he is about me," Willy listed. "Everyone at school hates me except for you. My mom is in a psychiatric hospital and they won't let me see her," he said, stopping before the list got too long._

_"And leaving would make those problems go away?" Amy asked. "What about me? What will I do?"_

_"I don't know, Amy...you'll be safer here than on the streets. Anytime Raymond hurts you, get my dad to fix it. He likes you."_

_"What will I do without you? You're my best friend!" she exclaimed, louder than she had ever truly yelled before._

_"When I get some money and a house, I promise I'll come back to get you."_

_"Promise?" She looked at him, her brow furrowed, trying to determine if he was telling the truth._

_"Promise, Amy."_

_"Thanks, Willy," she said, hugging him. She pulled back and went to his bed, picking up a big hat box._

_"This is for you," she said. "I got it when I found out. I guess that you really are leaving, aren't you?" _

_He opened it, and inside was some money, a few bars of chocolate and...A wonderful top hat._

Snapping out of his reverie, Willy put his hat back on his head and left, wondering about whatever happened to Amy B. Carter.

Mr. Willy Wonka, Chocolatier Extroidonaire, stood unseen to the side of the courtyard, watching his guests come into the factory yard. There was the Fat German, the Spoiled Brat, the Chewing Gum "Champion," the Pessimistic Devil, and a fifth kid who just seemed lucky to win the 5th Golden Ticket. The family member he decided to bring was puzzling, she was too young to be his mother, and she didn't seem to act like she was his sister or anything.

The woman with little Charlie Bucket looked startlingly familiar. She made Wonka think of Amy Carter.

What was with that woman, coming into his thoughts so recently?

She looked a lot like Amy, though, she had brown hair, though she had blonde streaks to it, and it was curly, unlike Amy's. Her bangs hung in her eyes a bit, which were a bit dark, but had a mischievous sparkle in them. Her facial features scared him; she looked so familiar to Amy. She smiled and waved when Willy looked at her, and he wasn't sure why. The sparkle in her eyes made Willy think of how he met Amy and Helena Carter in the first place.

_Willy looked at the girl trudging in the snow in front of him, and realized he hadn't seen her around before. When he heard her sniffle her nose, he realized she was crying._

"_Hey," he'd said, "Why are you crying?"_

"_I don't want to talk about it," she said. He noticed she had a British accent, though he didn't mention it to her. _

"_Well, anyway, I'm Willy. Willy Wonka. What's your name?"_

"_Amy. Amy B. Carter," she said, wiping her nose on her sleeve, her voice so quiet that Willy strained to hear her._

"_You have a nice name, it's very pretty."_

"_Thank you," she sniffled._

"_Where are you from?"_

"_Canary Wharf, it's outside of London."_

"_That's cool. I'm from here," Willy said, looking at his feet and kicking at the snow. Here was this English girl; cool, foreign, and nice, and here was little dorky Willy; braces, headgear, awkward._

"_What's it like here?" she asked, meeting his eyes with her own. He noticed that they were chocolate brown._

"_It's ok. It snows a lot, though."_

"_That's okay. I like snow," she said, and Willy noticed that she had stopped crying._

"_So, why were you crying?"_

"_It's nothing, my sister and I got into a fight," she said nonchalantly, obviously not wanting to talk about it._

"_Oh, I'm sorry, Amy. What's your sisters' name?"_

"_Helena. Helena B. Carter"_

_They walked the rest of their way back to her home, where Willy saw that she lived just around the block from him. She went inside, promising to walk with him to school the next day._

_That night, Willy was walking around to the corner grocer's, passing Amy's house when he heard yelling from inside. He went up the front steps and looked in the window to come across a terrifying scene._

_A man, clearly drunk, was in Amy's face, yelling, "Where's Helena? Why isn't she here?"_

"_I told you, she left! She went back to Canary Wharf!"_

"_Why? Why didn't you make her stay? I'll bet you didn't even put up a fight, did you? If you wouldn't even try to make your sister stay, you should've left with her, you useless slut!" he screamed, slapping her face. She fell to the floor, and the man started kicking her. _

_When he was done, she layed there, motionless and helpless, on the cold, dark, floor, as Willy stood, horrified, before he left, scared for his new friend._

Realizing that the show was ending, Willy went back to his normal self, laughing and clapping about the show. They entered the front hallway, the Buckets marveling at the grandeur of a simple hallway.

"Just drop your coats anywhere," Willy said, throwing his coat on the floor. The Bucket family member shrugged off her shawl, dropping it on the floor before helping Charlie take off his coat, sighing as she looked at the wear and tear on it. "I need to buy you a new coat," she sighed. Damn, her voice sounded familiar, too. It sounded like Amy's, British accent and all. Of course, he was in London. He'd moved his candy business to the United Kingdom, hoping to find Amy here one day.

They started walking down the hall, when Willy was suddenly molested by the little gum girl. "Hi, I'm Violet Beauregard."

"I don't care," Willy said, staring straight ahead. The Bucket Woman smiled, putting her arm around Charlie.

"Well, you should care," the girl boomed, "because I'm gonna be the one who wins the special prize at the end."

"Well, you do seem confident," he sighed. "And confidence is key."

The Bucket Woman giggled again, and whispered in Charlie's ear, "That means she's not going to get it. Same old Willy." Willy looked at the other parents, and realized only he and Charlie heard it.

Willy turned back around, to see the Fat German boy standing there.

"I'm Augustus Gloop. I love your chocolate!" he exclaimed, stuffing more into his face, which was covered in chocolate.

"Thanks," Willy said, awkwardly. "I never realized we had so much in...common." He went to walk again, when a little girl stepped into his path.

"I'm Veruca Salt, it's very nice to meet you, sir," said a little girl dressed in furs and nice clothing.

"I always thought a Veruca is a type of wart you got on the bottom of your foot," he laughed. The girl looked a little mad and pouted a bit. Willy turned around and addressed the Teevees and Buckets.

"You," he said to the Teevee boy. "You're Mike Teevee. You're the little devil who cracked the system."

"And you," he said to Charlie. "You're just lucky to be here, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir," Charlie said quietly. Willy then turned to the adults and said, "And you all must be their...p – p ..."

"Their Parents," Mr. Salt said, looking at Willy strangely.

"Right. Parents. Moms and...Dads," he said, as his eyes went glassy. He seemed to be going into a flashback.

As everyone stood in the entrance hall, Willy had a look on his face that Amy used to call his "Flashback Face." Before he could delve back into his memories, though, he turned and led the party farther down the hallway. The hallway seemed endless, but when they came to an extremely small door, Amy realized that the hallway had gotten shorter as they walked through.

"Now, kids, this is the most important room in the factory. My whole life's work is behind that door."

"Then why is the door so small?" asked the rude Mike Teevee.

Though Willy was annoyed, he shook it off and said, jokingly, "To keep all the chocolaty goodness inside!" as he unlocked the door. As he pushed it open with a flourish of his hand, everyone was taken aback by the wonder inside that room, gawking even more at every turn.

"Careful, children. Don't lose your heads. Don't get over-excited. Just stay perfectly calm," Willy said, though it fell on deaf ears. Amy zoned out, wishing that this room was the outside world, which all rivers were chocolate, blue flowers tasting of blueberries, red flowers tasting of cherries.

When she snapped out of her daydreaming, she looked over at Willy and met his eyes as he said, "Everything in this room is eatable, even I am eatable, but that is called cannibalism, my dear children, and is frowned upon in most societies," he lectured matter-of-factly, getting a snigger from Amy.

"It's 'edible,'" she corrected, hiding her smile.

"Pardon?" he asked, tilting his head up to see the short girl behind the tall adults.

"You said 'eatable,' Mr. Wonka," Amy said quietly, Willy struggling to hear her. "It's 'edible,' not 'eatable.'"

"Thank you," he said, before continuing on. "All right, kids!" he exclaimed. "Enjoy."

The kids scurried off, the parents nervously following behind. Amy stood still, trusting Charlie not to do anything stupid. He wandered off, never being a child of extremes; he walked instead of ran, spoke instead of yelled. He was a quiet-demeanored child. As she stood still, Willy Wonka walked up to her, obviously using his cane for fashion rather than because he needed it.

25 years later, he looked so much like his childhood self, unlike Amy, who had changed so much from the little girl whose bruises and lacerations Willy had taken care of.

"Hello, Miss. We haven't been properly acquainted."

Suppressing the urge to correct that statement, that he had been her best friend when she was a child, she let him take her hand as he kissed her knuckles.

"No, we haven't," she answered, playing along.

"Willy Wonka, my dear," he said, bowing.

"Blythe, I'm Charlie's aunt," she answered.

"Aunt, you say? How wonderful! Do tell me, where are you from?"

Amy laughed at how England had changed him, even if he kept his American accent. "I'm from Canary Wharf, Mr. Wonka. It's not far from here. I moved to the United States when I was eleven."

Wonka nodded, this woman making his head hurt. Why couldn't she just say if she was Amy or not? _She might not be Amy, _he thought. _There are a lot of people from Canary Wharf. And plenty of people named Amy._

"You're from Michigan, right?" Amy asked, hinting that she really does know him.

"Yeah," he said, looking her up and down. "How did you know that?"

"We lived on the same street," she said bluntly, no longer putting up the pretense of being a stranger.

Willy looked at her even stranger, Amy's heart breaking, when she said, "You were my first friend. You took care of me whenever I got hurt. You were my _best_ friend," she said, wanting to run away. After a moment of silence, his eyes widened as he realized who he was speaking to.

"Amy?" he asked, a smile spreading on his face. Amy smiled back, but was a little uncomfortable as the smile never faded, just stayed on his face, seemingly as permanent as his eyes.

He enveloped Amy in an awkward bear hug, excited, his sentences running together into one long question, "Amy it really is you I'm so sorry I didn't come for you like a promised do you forgive me?"

Amy laughed and pulled away, nodding her head.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "Where are you living now? Why is your hair curly? Never mind, that was a stupid question."

Amy laughed, not answering a question yet.

"Why do you look so different? Okay, sorry, that's stupid too. Oh, here's a good one! Why are you underweight? Why are you wearing summer clothes? It's February!" he ranted, making Amy laugh so hard that her stomach hurt. His concern was quite entertaining.

"I just...I can't believe how different you look!" he said, taking a strand of my hair in his hand. I opened my mouth to tell him how I was, when suddenly, the Salty girl whose name escaped Amy exclaimed, "Daddy, look over there! It's a little person! Over there, by the waterfall!"

Sighing, Amy said, "Yes, I am different," as Willy was called away.

Sadly, no one heard her but Charlie, who had just re-joined her.

Amy watched Willy talk to the children and smiled, he seemed so happy and so bright.

What would he want to do with a thief? A filthy, lying, thieving Gypsy?

She'd come home when she heard about the contest, having spent the past decade in Europe, traveling in a caravan, scheming and conning with her "cousins." She, herself, was part Romani, and her mother was full-blooded Romani, but it took her a long time before the Gypsies finally accepted her.

Listening to Willy's story about Loompa-land, Amy could just imagine him jumping around with a gigantic machete, swiping at everything in his path. She could also imagine what he used for "sign language" to speak with the Oompa-Loompas, probably consisting of arm-farts and tongue wiggles. As he started to speak about them, it seemed as if they came of out nowhere. More and more came seemingly out of hiding, though Amy knew we just hadn't seen them. None of them noticed that the fat boy had snuck off, until his mother cried "Augustus, my child that is not a good thing to do!"

"Little boy!" Willy cried, since he hadn't bothered to learn the childrens names. "My chocolate must not be touched by human hands!"

Suddenly, Augustus fell into the chocolate river, flailing around, his mother crying for the fire brigade. That was when Amy noticed one of those big pipes that suck up chocolate came extremely close to wear the boy was struggling to swim. Anyone could tell it was powerful, and as it began to suck, Augustus was being pulled into the whirlpool. Suddenly, he was pulled under, coming up into the pipe! He floated up, getting stuck multiple times along the way, looking stupidly down at everyone. Amy started zoning out, inhaling the smell of the chocolate, believing that Karma had just taken its course.

It was then she realized that she was warm, warmer than she had been in a long time. The kind of warmth where even your bones felt nice and toasty. It was warm in her trailer, but not this kind of warm. Amy looked up at Willy, who was beside her, as he said, "Augustus-Flavored-Chocolate-Coated-Gloop? Ew! No one would buy it!" in a know-it-all manner. Amy started laughing, laughing harder than she had in a long was something else that'd been missing, and she just never realized it until now. She didn't even care that everyone was giving her a strange look, the German mother looking murderous.

Willy brought back the side of Amy that had been missing.

This was the best feeling in the world.

Amy stood beside Willy, curling up into him like she used to do back in Flint, whenever her father, Raymond, was passed out drunk and she left to get away from him, climbing through Willy's window and he'd let her sleep in his bed as he'd sleep on the wingback chair in the opposite corner.

Usually after lashings. He was a great one for the lashings, he was. Willy leaned down and whispered, "You never answered all my questions."

"Well...I'm okay...I don't have a certain address, I move a lot."

"Why is your hair curly? Why do you look so different? Look at yourself, you're underweight! You're clothes are made for the Sahara in the peak of summer! You're deathly pale, and so cold...you're freezing, Amy Blythe!

"Willy, I can't control how I look as I've grown older," she said, being as mysterious as possible about her life.

"Why are you underweight?"

"It's my lifestyle...you learn how to conserve food when you don't know when you'll have your next meal."

"Why are you wearing summer clothing made for the Sahara?"

"It's what I had with in my knapsack."

"Why are you so cold?"

"Because I don't have a home, okay?" she exploded, getting annoyed at Willy for a moment.

"Amy Blythe...you're not...homeless, are you?"

"Oh, hell no, I'm a gypsy."

Willy's eyes widened as Amy told him the truth.

"What?"

"Amy Blythe, you know you didn't have to do it."

"I had no choice," she answered, her tone trying to let Willy know to just be quiet on the matter.

"Yes you did. You could've come here."

She stayed silent for a moment before nodding. "Yes, I could've."

"Then why didn't you?"

"I never thought of it."

"Well, you're living here from now on," Willy says matter-of-factly.

Amy opened her mouth to argue, and he said, "You can argue all you want, but you're deserting your caravan and living here."

She closed her mouth and didn't pout, but instead snuggled in closer, walking with him as he went to the Everlasting Gobstopper machine and was showing the children how to use it.


	2. Chapter 2

Amy laid on her cot on the floor, snuggled up in-between her sister, Helena, and Charlie. The warm feeling she had gotten used to, that wonderful, deep-down-to-your-bones warmth that Amy felt inside the factory was gone. Charlie was downstairs with the rest of the family, snuggled with Joe Jr, Helena, and Amy to keep warm.

While in the inventing room, Violet Beauregard ate a piece of gum (even though Willy told her not to) and she turned into a giant, twenty-foot tall blueberry. She was then taken to the juicing room to get the blueberry juice out of her. But she'd be blue forever.

Then, in the nut-sorting room, Veruca Salt was bratty enough to want a _Trained_ Squirrel, and even though Willy said no, she ducked under the railing and went to get one anyway, and when she touched said squirrel, they all went crazy, throwing her down the garbage chute, her dad following. She wouldn't be given any presents from Daddy for a while.

And, if the day couldn't get any worse for poor Willy, Mike Teevee was...just an idiot, putting himself into a television, getting himself shrunk, and the poor thing had to be stretched out in a taffy puller. Afterward, he was a human version of Flat Stanley.

This just left her and Charlie.

He invited them to live in the factory.

But they couldn't bring everyone else. Living there, without Helena or Joe Jr, without George and Georgina, Joe and Josephine.

They couldn't take that offer, no matter how badly they wanted to live in that factory.

So, Willy left, all without handing Amy an envelope. She clutched the envelope now, the smell of chocolate wafting off of it. Amy couldn't take the suspense anymore. Going to the other side of the small cottage, she lit a candle.

_Amy Blythe,_ the envelope read. For some reason, Willy now called her Amy Blythe. She liked it. She felt like a new person, like she had a new identity.

_Fate has brought us back together again. Why else would Charlie have found the ticket? I was meant to find you again. Even if Charlie can't be my heir, please at least let me see you again. I can't get you back just to lose you again. If you want to see me, meet me at the live oak outside the little cemetery near the Baptist church tomorrow evening, around six o'clock. When I moved to Canary Wharf, I came to find you. Instead, I found the town's memories of you. I found some of your old girl friends, and an old friend who happens to be a boy, his name was Jacob, told me that your mother was buried in that cemetery. I found her, Jane L. Carter, and Jacob told me that you'd sometimes climb into that tree at night and keep watch over her grave. I even found your initials, carved into the tree. ABC. Haha, inn 'it funny how your initials are the beginning of the alphabet! Ain't that just a funny coincidence? Or did your mom intend it that way? That's a funny word: coincidence._

_Anyway,_

_Sincerely,_

_Willy Wonka, Chocolatier, Founder, CEO of Wonka's Chocolate_

_P.s. You left your shawl. It smells like you._

Amy let a few tears fall down her cheeks before searching through the house for a spare scrap of paper and pencil. Finding a half-sheet of notebook paper, she wrote the one family member she could fully trust a letter.

_Charlie_,

_In your school books you'll find all of my money. I don't need it. Give it to your father, Helena would give it back to me. She's too prideful to keep it._

_I'm sorry that I couldn't stay here. I'm going back to Canary Wharf. I had a wonderful time at the factory with you, even if the end wasn't as great as the beginning._

_Everything will soon change. Willy used to tell me that when we were younger._

_~Amy Blythe Carter_

As she finished signing her name, Amy wiped away a tear, wishing she could take Charlie away from this hell-hole. She took her money out from her knapsack and placed it inside of his textbook, before walking out the front door.

She trudged through the town, watching the snow fall on the houses as she shook the snow out of her open sandals that she had, proudly, made herself. She had taken her old, broken gladiator sandals and had woven a leather cord through each, making a lace-up shoe. Her thin skirt trailed the ground, the bottom of the skirt hopelessly tattered. the scarf she was using as a belt starting to fall off. She retired it around her hips and re-arranged the scarf on her head. If anyone was looking out the window, they'd think she was the Virgin Mary. A scruffy, gypsy version of the Great Virgin.

Her blouse seemed to be falling off her, coming off of her shoulders, her elbows sticking out of the holes in the sleeves, the fabric worn but soft, the cotton like a blanket.

She stopped in front of the factory, and she leaned against the fence, wrapping her hands around it. How could Willy stay shut up all the time? Amy had to always be outside, or at least moving around.

It didn't matter, anyway. She was just going to see him; she wasn't going to _live_ with him, or anything. And even if she did, she'd actually go outside.

Willy had once called her a butterfly, unable to keep from flying. He didn't mean it literally, of course, but at that moment Amy really wished she was a butterfly. She wished she didn't have to walk to Canary Wharf, but she was glad she had the time to think.

Amy frowned and reached into her knapsack for her scrapbook, the one she had made of Willy. Ever since the day that he ran away, she had taken every newspaper clipping, any internet article and news story about him and had put it all in there, in chronological order.

Should she show this to Willy? Let him see that she never forgot him, or his kindness?

Amy didn't know.

She walked and walked, what seemed like forever. Finally, the church bell chiming, she came upon the graveyard, and, at the graveyard, the old oak tree.

Willy wasn't there yet.

Amy climbed into the tree and used her knapsack as a pillow, resting on the highest branch of the tree.

Willy stood under the old oak tree, looking around for Amy Blythe.

Would she come?

He hoped so.

Why wouldn't she?

_Because he was a jerk._

_He broke all of the promises that he made her._

_Of course she wasn't coming._

He pulled off his top hat, rubbing his gloved hands over the velvet, smooth and worn. He'd had it since he was twelve.

He smiled as he saw the girls' handwriting on the inside, Amy's beautiful cursive writing, wishing him well.

_Willy, thank you for being such a good friend. You've been the bestest friend I've ever had. Good luck!_

_Amy Blythe Carter._

Suddenly, he was hit on the head by a rogue snowball coming from the...sky?

He looked up into the blackness and saw only a row of white pearly teeth in a smile.

Amy heard a noise below as she slept and slowly sat up, looking around for something to defend herself with against a wild animal.

Finding nothing but snow, she quieted her breathing as she found the source of the noise...a human! Under her tree!

It stood around, on the other side of the tree. Amy quietly stood and daintily hopped to the next branch, making noise but not drawing the attention of the person below. They took off their hat, and Amy recognized it as the top hat she gave Willy. It was Willy!

Amy smiled as Willy was still oblivious to her standing above him. She collected some snow into her hands, quietly shaping it with her hands. Flexing her arms, she did an overhand throw aimed at his head.

As it flew at him, she ducked behind the trunk, and peeked out to see him looking around before looking up. She couldn't help but smile.

Willy spotted her smile, glinting in the darkness, and said, "I wonder why snowballs are falling from the sky! It's an odd coincidence, because, just last week, they were coming from the ground!"

The statement made Amy laugh and Willy turned around to see her come out from behind the trunk and sit on a branch.

"Hi, Amy Blythe," he said, looking up at her.

"Hi, Willy. Fancy seeing you here."

"It is a coincidence, isn't it? May I ask what you're doing up there?" he asked, squinting his eyes to see her in the darkness.

"I _was_ sleeping. May I ask what you're doing down there?"

"Waiting for someone."

"Hm, I wonder who," she answered, though she knew it was her.

"Are you going to come down?" he asked, straining to see her in the dark.

"Are you going to come up?" she countered.

"Well, this is silk, and I'm not as limber as I used to be..."

"Wimp! I don't want to come down!" Amy called down, settling back down on her branch.

"Then what are we going to do about this situation?" he asked, playing with his cane.

Amy shrugged before lying back on her branch, looking up at the stars.


End file.
